


Reasons Wretched and Divine

by cowboyapologist



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, M/M, Sneezing, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), dom aziraphale but like only a little, induced sneezes, probably. unless youre into footnotes and in that case im sorry to disappoint here, there are no footnotes this time because when your dick is out you dont have time for footnotes, very light D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyapologist/pseuds/cowboyapologist
Summary: "Pass it off as Lust if you want; play up the succubus act if it makes you feel less holy, dear.” He kisses Crowley’s stomach, and Satan the rush that sends shooting through him. He sniffles, again on his own volition, and Aziraphale shoots him an admonishing look. He curls a finger under Crowley's nose for just a moment, scolding him, reminding him that Aziraphale is the one in charge here, and he’d best not try and make up his own rules.





	Reasons Wretched and Divine

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sneeze kink fic!! please feel free to turn away now if that's not ur jam!   
this is a direct continuation of my other fic, holy by proximity, but i decided to post it separately because it seems that the vanillas have taken to that one and i didn't wanna freak them out TOO much now haha
> 
> i had to edit out some things so i apologize if anything feels awkward because of that. (also please be gentle lol)
> 
> holy by proximity: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403368  
title's from jackie & wilson by hozier because of course it is

Aziraphale turns a page. He doesn't like sleeping as much as Crowley does, but he dozed off on his chest and Aziraphale needed  _ something  _ to do, so here he is. The incapacitated angel shifts around in his spot. Aziraphale gets through all but two chapters before there's a slightly damp nose being nudged against his neck and a quiet grumble.

“‘Ziraphale,” Crowley groans muzzily. The book is quickly discarded while Aziraphale tends to his demon, carding his fingers through his hair.

“Welcome back,” he says sweetly. Then he frowns. Something is wrong- Crowley keeps wrinkling his nose, pawing at it with the back of his hand and sniffling.

“Oh dear, did I forget a book?” Crowley shakes his head, putting a hand on Aziraphale’s chest to push himself into a sitting position.

“Hhuhh…” He shakes his head again, turning away from him slightly. “H-Hhuhh...Hh’TSCHHIU! Huh’ATSCHHiu!!” He sounds nasally, stuffed up, croaky- and, well,  _ adorable. _

“À tes souhaits, Crowley,” Aziraphale manages, cheeks going a bit pink. “That's French, it means to your-”

Crowley opens one slitted eye and fixes him with a long stare. Aziraphale’s mouth shuts quickly. Then Crowley’s nose twitches, then he…  _ grins. _

“Crowley—! You- You insufferable thing, I don’t—”

“What’s the matter, angel?” Crowley asks, voice absolutely dripping with temptation. It comes to the angel’s attention that he’s sitting on top of him, thighs at Aziraphale's sides. He flushes, much to Crowley's amusement, and rests a hand on Crowley's thigh.

“You don't have to use that on me, you know,” he says disapprovingly as Crowley shows more teeth. “It’s not tempting if I’m already more than willing t-”

“Hhahh…” Crowley’s eyes flutter shut as he places a finger under his nose. When Aziraphale trails off, Crowley lowers his hand and starts to laugh in earnest, sniffling in between.

“Stop that!” Aziraphale insists, giving his thigh a frustrated but affectionate little thump.

“Adorable,” Crowley repeats, leaning down and nudging his nose against his angel’s neck. “Is that all you have to say?” he asks, rolling his hips just once. Aziraphale realizes that Crowley is still sitting on top of him, and, well. That won’t do. He sits forward, taking Crowley's wrists and pressing him into the sofa with one swift motion.

Crowley grins up at him as Aziraphale shoots him a dark look.

“Now, Crowley, I’ve told you before how I feel about teasing,” he starts, and his demon twitches his nose in response.

“I think I’ve forgotten,” he says, watching Aziraphale's lips. “Remind me?”

Aziraphale presses a kiss to Crowley's mouth, biting just so at his lower lip in a way that he knows usually gets him squirming. “I’ve told you...” a kiss to his jaw, “that if you keep...” a smattering of kisses down his neck, onto his adam’s apple (ha), along his collarbone, “teasing me…” Here he stops, grazing teeth ever so slightly against flushed skin. He kisses, then bites, then sucks a bruise into Crowley's chest. The demon groans underneath him, and again when Aziraphale meets his lips instead of continuing to trail his kisses downward. “..then I’ll have to punish you, my dear boy,” he finishes, fixing Crowley with a look of such undying devotion it feels akin to worship.

“And how will you do that?” Crowley asks, inches, centimeters away from his angel's face. Aziraphale nuzzles the demon’s nose with his own. Pink, because Crowley wills it so, and suddenly sensitive enough that the brief contact makes him start to itch. He instinctively tugs his hands forward, wanting to rub at his nose, and Aziraphale's fingers tighten around his wrists. Good. He swallows.

“Mm… Something a bit different this time,” Aziraphale muses, nuzzling Crowley's nose again. Crowley tries to shift his hips to gain back the friction he’d lost in the position shift, but his angel doesn't seem too keen on offering much yet. “If you’ll allow it,” he adds, polite enough to offer Crowley a backdoor as if he hadn't sneezed himself awake with full intentions of rousing Aziraphale's downstairs equipment into existence.

“I’ll allow it,” he says sweetly, sniffling and starting to gear up for a sneeze, but Aziraphale stops him.

“No.”

“Mm… no? But angel, I thought you—” Aziraphale shushes him, kissing his neck before nipping lightly at his earlobe.

“Let me,” he says into his ear. Crowley shivers. “It’s hardly a punishment if you get to be in control, is it?” 

Aziraphale knows it, too, running his tongue along Crowley's lip, pushing inside without waiting for invitation and finding Crowley’s own forked tongue darting to meet him.

“S’pose not,” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale's mouth. A second later he finds his hands bound together by angelic force, their previous binds busying themselves with unbuttoning Crowley's shirt the rest of the way. They could miracle their clothes off, yes, and they had done it before. But this way is just lots more fun.

Crowley loves to see his angel this way, he thinks as he works at both their belts. The way Aziraphale indulges in a spot of bossiness so easily with him, a dark tone that rumbles from his chest as he holds Crowley's wrists, or presses him to the mattress, or commands him onto his knees. And it’s a bit funny, Crowley thinks, that no matter how much of a growl creeps its way into Aziraphale’s throat or how many times he lets teeth slip out where he had only meant to lay kisses, the reverence never leaves his gaze. He watches Crowley like he’s his world, heart extended far beyond them. His love wraps around Crowley, sinking into his skin and sending warmth through his blood. It swells, threading through both their wings as it tethers them together. It swells and fills the room, fills the space between them when they're apart.

Even now, as he trails a hand up Crowley's bare side, runs a thumb over his chest, and stares down at him with parted lips. The demon thinks dreamily of running his fingers through the silvery blonde curls that adorn his angel’s chest like plumage. But later, later. For now Crowley soaks in the sensation of  _ I want _ and  _ I need _ because that’s what Aziraphale likes to see, that’s what makes them both feel good.

Lust, a sin they've both become much more familiar than before with after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, is evidenced in the blush that spreads across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. But all Crowley can find in his perfect angel’s eyes, so dark they're barely blue, is love. 

Crowley smiles, and Aziraphale beams back. Then catches himself— Yes, right, punishing the naughty serpent, that's the stage they’ve set. 

“Well?” Crowley prompts, instead of saying  _ I love you so much I want to drop to my knees and sob. _ “I’m not feeling very punished, angel,” instead of  _ I would wait here like this for eternity if you asked, because the only real torture would be for me to try and deny you anything. _ His ankles haven't met the same fate as his wrists so he wraps his legs around Aziraphale, instead of  _ I love you I love you I love you. _

Aziraphale, remembering his desire to take the lead, to move aside his cheery demeanor in favor of a much more divine and satisfactory one, lifts Crowley’s thigh and looks up at him through his lashes.

“You’re not a very hellish demon,” he begins, kissing the inside of Crowley’s knee. “As much as you tease, you know it’s because you want me to have you like this. You don't  _ tempt _ because you want to make me Fall. You don't cause havoc or chaos or even a bit of suffering because it’s in your demonic nature. You do it because you want to be found out. You want to be caught in the act.” Two, three, four bruises suckled into his inner thigh. Aziraphale soothes them with kisses. “You want me to have you here, bound, not begging for forgiveness but for retribution instead. Pass it off as Lust if you want; play up the succubus act if it makes you feel less holy, dear.” He kisses Crowley’s stomach, and  _ Satan _ the rush that sends shooting through him. 

“‘Ziraphale,” he hisses. He sniffles, again on his own volition, and Aziraphale shoots him an admonishing look. He curls a finger under Crowley's nose for just a moment, scolding him, reminding him that Aziraphale is the one in charge here, and he’d best not try and make up his own rules.

“It’s what you are,” Aziraphale purrs, kissing that precise spot again, honing in with his teeth. “Blessed.” Crowley swallows, throat feeling very dry. It’s not quite the same, the words disconnected and in the wrong order, but the intent of it alone stirs up a tiny itch in the back of his sinuses. Aziraphale grips his thigh tighter— his fingers leave red marks he won't allow to fade any time soon— and begins to kiss him again.

“You’re blessed for laying with an angel in the first place.” Up past his bellybutton, following his happy trail. He sniffles, then again, twitching his nose side to side a few times. “You’re blessed for every time you’ve known me, you’re blessed for every kiss and every soft touch and slow stroke. You’re blessed for all the times we’ve been here, just like this.” He kisses the skin stretched over his ribs. “You’re blessed for the bed. You’re blessed for the counter.” He kisses the dip of his collarbone as it lifts with Crowley's hitching, unsteady breath. “You're even blessed for the rugs I’ve had to replace.”

“H-Huh… iuhh… Aziraphale,” he breathes.

“Yes, my love?”

“S’just…” he sniffles, moans as Aziraphale kisses his chest and the curls of his hair brush underneath his nose deliberately. “You’re sssayin’ it i-in… heh… in the wrong order…” 

“Mm, yes, well… I guess the actual order slipped my mind.” He smiles as Crowley makes a desperate little sound in the back of his throat.

“Be a dear and tell me what the right order is, then,” he encourages, lowering Crowley's thigh to glide a hand up it, and settle on stroking his side. Each touch sends ethereal flames all over him, sweat beading on Crowley's skin.

“It’s, uh.” He sniffles. “It’s b-b… heH… ble-ehhh… hh, heh…” God- Satan- Fuck, somebody, it fucking itches. He can't get the words out, because every time he does, his breath swells. “B-Bl… huh, iuhh… Snff, angel, I c-can’t.” Tugging at the angelic pressure on his wrists (he likes that he can feel Aziraphale's resistance), he squirms and shudders and would give anything to just rub his poor nose.

“How does it feel,” Aziraphale asks, kissing his lips again and nudging his nose against Crowley's once. His demon does whine this time, a desperate sound aching for relief that peters out into a hiss. He wrinkles his nose, sniffling pathetically, leaning as close to Aziraphale as he can but it’s not enough to make contact. Aziraphale repeats the question.

“I-It really itchesss,” is all Crowley can manage, and Aziraphale smiles. He ducks in to press a flurry of kisses behind his ear, in the process allowing Crowley to bury his nose between neck and shoulder, scrubbing desperately with a series of wet sniffles. He’s throughly rewarded by the deep groan that bubbles out of Aziraphale's throat, and Crowley thinks (vaguely) that this is it, his angel wants it just as bad as he does now. He digs his heels into Aziraphale's back, rubbing his nose shamelessly against his neck, sniffling loudly into his ear with a soft pant that says  _ come on _ , it begs  _ please.  _ He wishes he could touch him, more than he wants the restraints at this point, he just wants to bring Aziraphale to the same relief he knows he’s about to get.

His angel picks up on his excitement, pressing a slow kiss to his throat and Crowley’s breath stutters, half-hitch half-moan,  _ come on come on say it, _ Crowley tilts his head back, nostrils flaring, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Aziraphale,” he moans, just how he knows his angel likes it, how he likes it. “A-Aziraphale,” he says, and it's not a name but a plea, a beg, a prayer, a mounting and mounting need for please please please please. 

“Bless-” Aziraphale pants, and he can barely get it out, his eyes are half lidded and his mouth hangs open, his chest heaves as much as Crowley's does.

_ “Pleassse,”  _ Crowley begs, hitching breath stuttering to a stop as the phrase is cut short.

“Bless you,” Aziraphale moans, and Crowley takes one heady gasp as the itch spreads from the back of his nose to every inch of it. His abs clench and his chest tightens as his breath fills it to capacity, body taut like spring coils, all tension and potential energy. There’s a split second right before that is Crowley's favorite part of these games he and his angel play- The itch reaches its absolute peak, everything in him stretched to its absolute limit of need. And the spring releases.

“H-Huh’AHTSHHiu! Huh’TSCHIUU! Huh’AHTSHhuh! H-Huh…!”

Aziraphale is babbling, the spell broken, all the command gone from his voice as he bites and kisses and presses feverishly whispered “bless you”s to Crowley's skin. “Hh.. Ah’TSCHHIU!”

“A-Angel… Hh… Azihhh, huh, huhh’TSHIuh! Aziraphale, huh, snhff, please,” because the blessings are tumbling out now and Crowley's nose can't keep up. He feels the exact moment when Aziraphale's binds break, his focus only on  _ Crowley Crowley Crowley, _ and Crowley puts a newly freed finger to his angel's lips.

“C-Careful now, angel, y-yhuhh… Huh’AHTsshuh! You might jussst... snhff-snf, h-huh’AHTSSCHIU! Exorcissse me w-with… hhuhhHAHTSHhiuh!” Then there's one more, one more blessing and one more sneeze.

He ducks towards’s Aziraphale's chest with a shivering “HuHH’ ** _AHHTSCHhiu!” _ ** and draws out a grateful moan, the relief of expelling Aziraphale's last blessing brings him so much pleasure he can't take the feeling apart from a similar one in a different location.

His angel collapses on top of him, and Crowley can almost feel the phantom brush of Aziraphale's wings settling around them protectively in another realm of existence. They breathe hard, ragged and near unison, and Crowley kisses a soft curve under his jaw. He leaves a love bite there- gentle, tentative, so unlike the bruises and red marks scattered across his own body- and his tongue darts out quickly, tasting sweat and firewood and, yes, Aziraphale's new cologne.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and it’s not how he had expected, not how he’d planned. He doesn't need to say I love you. Neither of them do. They know— Crowley's known since Eden, and Aziraphale had realized Crowley loved him in 1941— and it’s said silently with each touch, each glance, each small kiss and each shy finger intertwined that somehow feels more intimate than knowing each other like this. He doesn't need to tell Aziraphale he loves him out loud because he tells him every day, and Aziraphale… well. Aziraphale likes to say he loves him, but that's different. He’s an angel. His love rolls off him, he hiccups and a proclamation of love gets sent into the world. He can say I love you all he wants and it doesn't lose meaning. But how he loves  _ Crowley  _ is different, and his demon has never needed to hear it. Not when he feels it. Not when it holds him and comforts him and quiets down the doubt and gently encourages his faith, even his faith in Her; with the way Aziraphale's love completes him it never needs to be said.

Crowley hasn't said I love you before. He had planned to make a spectacle of it, to kiss his hand dramatically and flourish a ring they didn't need, ask for a marriage they didn't need, and drink copious amounts of champagne to celebrate an engagement that didn't mean anything when they already entirely belonged to each other. But that’s just it— Aziraphale lifts his head to give Crowley a fond and utterly pleased smile, kissing his lips— He doesn't need it to be dramatic. He doesn't need the theatrics (though Hell and Heaven both know that Crowley wouldn't be Crowley without the theatrics) because, well. He nuzzles his face into Aziraphale's neck, shutting his eyes and breathing him in.

“I love you too, dear,” Aziraphale says.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“You need to miracle yourself a bigger couch.”

His angel laughs, the sound bright and ringing through the shop. It’s contagious and Crowley laughs, too, the both of them dissolving into giggles and a snort that only makes Aziraphale laugh harder. The distant stormclouds outside part enough for a sliver of pink light from the sunrise to creep through the window, signalling that morning will follow on the coattails of the rain. As Crowley runs a hand through Aziraphale’s hair, the both of them still laughing, Crowley feels his heart swell. Yes. They love each other. And they both know.


End file.
